Boston Strong
by walroose
Summary: WARNING: this was inspired by my personal, emotional response after everything that happened at the 2013 Boston Marathon and afterwards. This is a sensitive subject, so read at your own disgression. England comes to America's house to check on him a week after the tragedy. USUK oneshot. There are no descriptions of the actual events in this story.


**This doesn't mention the actual events, but it was inspired by my feelings after everything that happend at the Boston marathon and Watertown the week of April 15, 2013. I live in Massachusetts, so maybe I've been thinking about it a bit more than most people, but I really had to get my emotions down in a story after that craziness. Also, I didn't forget what happened in Texas. This is in honor of those affected there as well, even though I don't mention it by name. This week, we are all:**

**Boston Strong**

* * *

_April 21, 2013_

"America? Ah, here you are. I've been looking-" The rest of England's statement died in his throat as he entered the study. America wasn't listening to him anyways. His eyes, usually so bright and clear, were unfocused and distant, staring out the window that was only inches in front of his nose. He didn't even move as England closed the door behind him with a surprisingly loud _thud_ that echoed in the silence that had fallen between them.

England walked silently to America's side, following his gaze to see what he was looking at with such clouded eyes. The window looked out on a grassy lawn, sloping gently away from America's house, framed by a long drive and a few trees, some with half-opened flowers or tender leaves just poking forth into the warming, spring air. But the only thing of any real interest in their view was a flagpole, the American flag waving at half-mast. It was a humbling and solemn symbol. England stood next to America in silence, watching alongside him and waiting.

Eventually, and with apparent effort, America murmured, "It's been a long week." England glanced up and noticed that he was paler than usual and had dark circles under his eyes. There was a certain haunted quality about his distant gaze, like he wasn't really seeing anything that was in front of him.

England touched his shoulder and said, as gently as he could, "Yes, but it's over now. You did what you had to do and you saved lives, America."

He nodded slowly. "I know." He blinked, focusing on England's face, some of the life returning to his eyes. He gave England a grim smile. "It's just…they hit me right in the Boston, you know? Where it hurts."

America turned away from the window and gave his head a little shake, like he's just woken up. His eyes roamed the room as he gathered himself, though he looked like hardly knew how he'd gotten there at all. England, somewhat concerned, followed him as he crossed the floor to his desk where a monstrous pile of paperwork waited for him. He sat down heavily in his chair and sighed at the sight of the promise of hours of tedious work before picking up the nearest folder.

"Er…America…" England felt himself blushing slightly, perching on the edge of the desk. America paused in his shuffling through the various papers and looked up at him expectantly. Though he was somewhat embarrassed, he forced himself to ask the question on his mind. "Where is your Boston, exactly?"

Different places on a country's body often coordinated with different locations within that country. Major cities and distinguishing features were usually represented somewhere on the country's physical form. England was guessing that Boston, an old and important city, must be somewhere on America, though he'd never heard him mention it before.

"Oh, it's…" America laughed slightly and his face tinged pink as well. "It's kind of embarrassing. But it's right here." He touched his chest.

England stared at him blankly, not comprehending what he was saying. "What the hell?"

America looked back with a mixture of exasperation and desperation on his face. "Come on! It's in my heart! My _heart_!"

"I knew that, I was just joking around!" England said with a huff, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. He was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of that himself. But a moment later he peeked back in America's direction and saw that he was looking downcast again, staring listlessly at the paper in his hand. He felt himself soften. "Your heart, huh?" He placed his hand on the same place America had before, in the center of his chest. He could feel his heartbeat beneath his hand, steady and strong despite what it had been through in the past few days. What it had been through since the city was founded, even at the hands of England himself. It was still beating.

"Thank you," America said after a moment of silent contemplation.

"What for?"

"For checking on me." He pulled England down into his lap and gave him a brief kiss on the lips. "And for caring."

"Of course I care, idiot," England muttered, blushing and averting his gaze. America's arms were around him and he wasn't giving any indication that he was going to let go in the near future. Eventually England gave in and slipped his own arm around America's neck, letting himself be pulled further into the warmth of his embrace. America felt comfortingly firm and solid, just as he always did. Yet when England reached up and touched America's face some time later, he found that his cheeks were wet.

England knew that America's tears were not a sign of weakness. They were the tears of a man who'd been strong. He'd been strong for those that needed him, when they needed him, but he could still feel the pain of loss in his chest with every beat of his heart. England was proud to know that he was the one here to comfort _him_ now; he was a hero in his most vulnerable state. He pressed his lips to America's forehead and then let him bury his face in his shoulder. England held him and slowly stroked his hair, inhaling his lover's scent. They stayed that way for some time, curled up in a leather desk chair together, nothing more to say aloud but each understanding the other perfectly.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. And I know the whole country might not agree that Boston is America's 'heart', but after this past week, I hope you can all understand where I was coming from, at the least. **

**Somehow, the American Revolutionary War just became a lot more personal, though. O_O**

**Note added 4/28/2013 - Maybe I didn't make something clear. This story isn't about me in any way. Nor is it even about "America" the character, really. It's actually about the American spirit. I wanted to write about something that all, or at least a majority of us, probably felt during this experience. This is not about people who were there. I cannot imagine what it was like to actually have been there, so I didn't try to. This is about the people that were farther away; that felt the disgust about what had been done, then the fear when the suspects hadn't been caught, and then an overwhelming sense of patriotism after we'd come together and ended this particular crisis. It's about how the American spirit cannot be broken, even as we mourn with those that lost loved ones. It has nothing to do with me thinking that I was affected differently by this event than anyone else. I hope that makes a little more sense. **


End file.
